


Living Dead Girl

by ShotsbyShae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mild Smut, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShotsbyShae/pseuds/ShotsbyShae
Summary: Ten years ago he left you alive and now you just want to know why?





	1. Chapter 1

** _So beautiful they make you, kill._ **

The Winter Soldier isn’t just any ghost story.

He is _your _ghost story.

Something awakens you quickly and the streetlight outside your bedroom window casts a soft orange glow across the features of the man standing at the foot of your bed. Before you have time to scream, he’s on top you – pinning you to the mattress – metal fingers pinching your skin as they wrap around your throat. Your heart pounds in your chest as you open your mouth, trying to gasp for air as he pushes down harder against your trachea.

“Moy,” the Russian word is thick as it slips past his lips, blue eyes staring into your soul. “You are mine.”

Your body jerks upright in bed, a cold sweat drenching your body and dampening your sheets. The air in your room is cool with the scent of the lavender lotion you used after your shower earlier, but you also pick up hints of sandalwood. You know it’s from him – the smell – like a sense memory. The nightmare has haunted you for over ten years now and everytime you awaken from it you can smell the faint traces of cologne.

He had let you live the night he was sent to murder your aunt and uncle in cold blood, but the thought of him coming back to finish the job is never far from your mind.

** _10 Years Earlier_ **

_After the car accident six months earlier, your aunt and uncle, who lived just outside of DC had taken you in. A know-it-all teenager with a smart-ass attitude. All you knew about your uncle’s job was it involved the government, aside from that you didn’t care. You were sneaking in through the side door of the kitchen late one night past curfew when you heard muffled gunshots upstairs. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the Xanax you had popped earlier in the night, but you felt brazen enough to grab a large steak knife from the butcher’s block on the counter and quietly make your way up the stairs. You could hear heavy footsteps coming from your aunt and uncle’s bedroom and you instinctively kept the knife down at your side, tucked against the back of your thigh. _

_At the top of the stairs you had paused and looked around, no longer hearing anyone move about. You carefully edged your way along the wall until you were close to the bedroom door. Moonlight from the window at the far end of the hallway cast an eerie glow across the dark hardwood at your feet and for a brief moment you chastised yourself, because you were the girl in the horror movies who went to investigate the noise instead of running away. _

_As if on cue, the door to the bedroom jerked open and you were slammed into the wall by something cold and hard around your throat. The man towered over you as his metal fingers held your neck firmly in place. His long black hair framed his face almost too perfectly and you could see the black stubble along his jawline. Ice blue eyes stared down at you menacingly and you knew it was over. Quickly, your hand had brought the blade up and shoved it hilt deep into his ribs. You felt as the knife ripped through the muscle and tissue just below the metal arm. An overwhelming thrill coursed through your veins as his eyes widened in shock and his mouth opened slightly. He glanced to the knife briefly before he flicked his rage filled eyes back to you._

_You were dead, you knew it. _

_He reached over with his free hand and pulled the knife out slowly as his metal arm released the grip on you. He held the blade up in front of you, now dark red from his blood. _

_“Moy,” he said the word, tilting the blade back and forth. “Mine.” He turned and walked toward the stairs, stopping for a moment at the top of them, turning to look at you. His face illuminated by the moonlight as he stared at you threateningly, “Stay.”_

_The smell of blood and sandalwood hung in the air as you had waited until he disappeared down the staircase before you raised your hand up to look at it – the one that had held the knife. There was a smear of blood on your index finger – his blood – and you stared at it curiously for a few moments, the thought of having almost died at his hands at the front of your mind. _

_Why did he let you live?_

_Better yet, did you enjoy stabbing him? _

_You pressed your index finger inside your mouth – the metallic remnants swirled against your tongue – as you contemplated the questions._

The Winter Soldier had been your first taste of blood – literally – and your world hasn’t been the same since. You like to keep your hit list as clean as possible: mobsters, pedophiles, murderers, etc. The basic scum of the Earth types.

After you make your morning coffee you find a large manila envelope lying on the hardwood in front of your apartment door, where it was shoved under the door sometime during the night. You already know what the contents of the envelope are – your next target. You place your mug on the counter and carefully peel back the metal prongs and open the flap, pulling out the file folder. Your heart stops as you open the file – the man in the photo you recognize – the name isn’t what you know him by though.

James Buchanan (Bucky) Barnes

In a box toward the bottom of the page under aliases is the name you know him best by: The Winter Soldier. You stare at the photo a moment before you pick up your coffee mug and raise it to your lips, talking quietly to the photo you say, “Looks like you’re mine.”

***

You watch from the shadows as his head slowly lifts from his chest and he takes in his surroundings. Your aunt and uncle’s house had been left to you, and it’s sat vacant for years. The bedroom is mostly dark, with some moonlight creeping through the windows. You reach over and turn the table lamp on, illuminating the corner you stand in.

His eyes widen at your presence, voice groggy as he speaks, “Who are you? Where am I?”

You notice his voice is different than you remember from that night as you slowly walk towards the dining room chair you have him tied to, “You don’t remember me?” You point to the pristinely made bed with the large steak knife in your hand. “You murdered my aunt and uncle in that bed right there.”

He glances over to the bed and his eyes flash dark for a moment – realization sinking in. A sly smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he flicks his gaze back to you, “You tried to kill me.”

“Bingo.”

“Why now?” He questions you, trying to move his arms against the restraints. His blues eyes fixing on you as he realizes you must have injected him with a paralytic. You can’t tell if he’s angry or impressed.

“Chalk it up to fate I suppose. I only take care of those whose names I’m given, and your name just so happened to come across my desk, so to speak,” you smile coyly at the man as you move closer to him. “Looks as if we’ve come full circle.”

“You’re an assassin?” The realization sets in as you drag the knife gently up the black denim covering his thighs.

“Yup,” the word pops out of your mouth cheerfully as you continue to run the tip of the knife carefully up the front of the dark green Henley he’s wearing. “Just like you.”

“You’re not like me,” he remarks quickly. “I was brainwashed into doing what I did.”

You stop moving the knife, leaving the tip of the blade at his jugular notch, your face tilting close to his, “Then why didn’t you kill me?” You stare into his blue eyes fiercely as he considers the question. “I’ve read your file – you don’t leave witnesses – so why me?”

He continues to stare at you for a beat, “I don’t know.”

“Bull shit,” you spit out. “You and he are the same person. You know exactly why – tell me.”

You watch as he clenches his jaw, not wanting to answer and you run the blade along his collarbone causing small rivulets of blood to roll down his skin, soaking into the green fabric of his shirt. Straddling him in the chair you drape your free arm casually across his shoulder, twirling the length of his hair around your finger, “We can do this all night.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment before he sighs, “Your eyes – there was a darkness in your eyes. You weren’t scared.” Blue eyes glance up at you, mere inches from your own. “When you stabbed me, you weren’t scared. Most people would have been terrified – you enjoyed it.” Your eyes narrow slightly as he shifts uncomfortably under you, letting you know there’s not much longer before the paralytic wears off.

Running the knife along his jawline you smile innocently at him before you lean closer and press your lips to the corner of his mouth, his body tensing at your actions. Confusion is evident in his eyes as you lean back, your fingers still wrapped gently around his neck. He waits for you to stab the knife into his side like you did the first night – or maybe you’ll slit his throat this time.

You stand up slowly, keeping your eyes trained on his as you do, “It was nice to see you again Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky watches in surprise as you walk towards the bedroom door, “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Kill you?” You glance back over your shoulder at him incredulously. “I can’t kill you babe – you made me.”

Hours later, after the paralytic has worn off and Bucky is back at his hotel room, he finds a small business card shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. Pulling it out he sees the words typed out in dainty letters _The Raven_. He flips the card over, the back reveals nothing and he quickly pulls his cell phone from his pocket dialing the first person he thinks of.

“Sam,” he says urgently. “What do you know about an assassin they call The Raven?”

There’s a momentary pause on the other end of the line before Wilson scoffs, “Dude, that’s a ghost story. She’s not real.”

Bucky stares at himself in the dresser mirror, seeing the blood on his shirt from where you had sliced into his collarbone. He knows you’re real, because he had seen you, felt you, and he can still smell faint traces of lavender, as if you’re still straddling his lap.

The Raven isn’t just any ghost story.

You’re _his _ghost story.


	2. She Loves Control

**But the way she kills you, makes you feel alive.**

Six months.

It has taken longer than he expected. You are good – he is better.

_“You made me.”_

You had said those words to him that night and they have been haunting him ever since then. Everyone thought he was crazy for going after you.

_“Even if she is real,” Sam had said from across conference table. “She’s not exactly killing innocent people.”_

_“That doesn’t make it right,” Steve’s voice is authoritative as he flips through the folder Bucky had presented him with. It was thin. No photo, only names of victims with dates and locations along with newspaper clippings. _

_“I have to do this Steve,” Bucky’s mind was already made up, whether Steve cleared it or not. “Everything she’s done – I’m responsible.”_

_“That wasn’t you Buck,” the man reminded his friend._

_“Wasn’t it?” He arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “She was just a kid. Normally, I – he – wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”_

_Steve had watched his friend for a moment, “Okay. Whatever you need. We’ll find her.”_

The sedative he’d injected you with has kept you asleep for the flight back to the compound. He had thought to chain your wrists and ankles as a precautionary measure though. You do seem to be unpredictable.

Bucky carries you off the jet, your face peaceful in the moonlight as your head rests against his shoulder. The warmth of your body against his is a comfort in the cool night air as he makes his way into the compound. There’s a plexiglass cell with a cot waiting and he lays you gently on the thin mattress, staring at you for a moment. Suddenly he feels like a dog who’s been furiously chasing a car and he’s finally caught it. _Now what? _He wants to stop you, but he hasn’t thought much farther than finding you. He sure as hell isn’t going to kill you.

The next morning, he enters to find you sitting on the cot. Your legs are folded under you and the look on your face is unimpressed. The chains that were binding your wrists and ankles are tossed across the floor.

_Show off_, he thinks to himself, not even the least bit curious as to how you managed to get the cuffs off.

“I let you live,” you begin from the other side of the plexiglass, “and this is the thanks I get.”

“Are you hungry?” He questions simply.

“No,” your tone is harsh. “I was in the middle of a job. Why kidnap me?”

“You said so yourself,” Bucky replies folding his arms across his chest. “I made you.”

“You think that means something?” The corners of your lips turn up in a sly smirk as someone else makes their way into the room.

“Hey man,” Sam greets Barnes as he approaches the plexiglass, then glances over to you. “So, this is her?”

“Yea,” Bucky replies as Steve walks in behind them, his eyes narrowing slightly as they settle on you.

“Son of a bitch,” Rogers’ says under his breath and Sam glances back at the man, seeing the look of recognition on his face.

“Small world,” the words fall from your lips, dripping with malice.

“Wait,” Sam says, “you two know each other?”

Neither of you respond and you watch as Steve shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Barnes glances from you over to his friend and you raise an eyebrow, “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

“You were Munich,” Steve shakes his head with a sigh.

Wilson’s eyes travel back to you before saying, “I thought the assassin in Munich we were chasing was a dude?”

“So did I,” the captain replies.

“Surprise,” your face lights up at their confusion. “I must say, I miss the beard Captain.”

“You,” Steve huffs, “you’re –”

“A little wicked,” the smile on your face is mischievous. “I know, but admit it, you had fun.”

Barnes and Wilson eyes widen in shock as they turn to Steve and memories from that night two years ago flash through his mind.

_He sat at the bar alone, the inability to complete his own mission weighed heavily on his mind. He was supposed to stop the assassin before he struck again, but he was too late. What he hadn’t known at the time was he had been chasing the wrong the person. _

_Then you had approached him and something in your eyes was familiar to him, reminded him of something – someone. Light flirting had ensued, drinks had been bought, and then he remembered you shoving him against the red subway tile of the bathroom. Your mouth had been hard and savage. He thought the seductive smile on your face was purely from pleasure, but there was another reason behind it. _

That smile is the same one that’s plastered across your face right now. Steve had only thought he’d been in control that night. You had known he was there for you and you couldn’t help yourself. He had fallen right into your trap and you had gotten him right where you wanted him – on his knees – his rugged features framed perfectly by your thighs.

“I know you enjoyed yourself Captain,” you stand up from the cot, sauntering over to the plexiglass wall, the smirk permanently in place. “At least twice.”

“Oh,” Sam says under his breath.

“You knew I was there after you,” Steve’s lips purse together tightly in thin line, and you notice a tick in his jaw.

Placing your hand on the plexiglass wall you look at him innocently, “I did.” You watch him shake his head angrily. “How’s it feel? To have been _that_ close, yet so far away Captain?”

“Why?” Bucky finally speaks up, seeing how irritated his friend is becoming with you. “Why fuck with him?”

You turn attention to the soldier, “Because I live for the thrill babe.”

His brows furrow together at the look of amusement on your face, knowing there’s something beneath the front you’re putting up, but he’s not sure what it is.

Taking a step back from the plexiglass wall you place your hands on your hips, glancing between the three men on the other side, “The real question is, what are you boys going to do with me?” The half-smile on your face is a bit unnerving. “Because you know this cage –” You wave your hand around at the walls surrounding you. “It won’t hold this little bird.”


	3. Heart of Novocaine

**You made me tough, you made me numb. **

Bucky Barnes is beyond frustrated.

You are trouble and he knows it. Flawed – so perfectly flawed – there’s a chaos inside you that can only end in disaster. He should know better, but there’s just something so damn familiar in your eyes and he can’t help but wonder if it’s because _he _made you.

“Who do you work for?” He asks the question for what feels like the fiftieth time.

“I must say,” you smile at him from the cot, “you’re cute when you’re agitated James.”

A huff of frustration accompanies the eye roll as he storms back over to the desk, flipping through the file folder there. He’s spent over two hours trying to talk to you and all you’ve given him is backhanded compliments and snarky comments. He shouldn’t like the way you smile at him, it’s just a you being coy, it’s not personal. Barnes has to continuously remind himself who you really are – what you’re capable of.

Steve watches the interrogation through the screen in his office as Sam enters the room questioning, “Any luck?”

“No,” Rogers replies leaning back in his chair. “She’s not giving up anything.”

“What did he expect?” Sam plops down in the chair across from the desk. “That she would be like, _Oh, you’re right. I’ll stop assassinating bad guys._ I mean, like I said, her victims _weren’t _good guys.”

Steve gives Wilson an unimpressed look before the two of them turn their attention back to the screen on the desk.

Bucky leans back against the desk, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms wearily, “Someone gives you the targets.”

“Do they?” You keep your tone playful – flirty. “Why so interested in me James?”

He stares at you through the partition, _it’s not personal,_ he reminds himself as he questions again slowly, “Who do you work for?”

You walk across the cell to lean against the plexiglass, your eyes narrowing slightly as you watch the man in front of you, “Let me out James. We could have more fun that way.”

“Not a chance,” he replies sharply.

You face falls, the perfect pout on your lips is something you’d mastered years ago. You’ve toyed with men before – cat and mouse – the game is much too easy. “Your loss.” The words slip out easily, tinged with anger.

***

Later that night, you can hear the faint sound of the basement door opening. After the day he’s spent with you, you know it’s not Barnes who’s come down for a late night visit.

“Can’t sleep, Captain?” You don’t have to look to sense him standing at the plexiglass wall.

He lets out a sigh as he watches you stare at the ceiling in the dark. “He feels responsible for you – for what you do.”

“Not my problem.” Your tone is cold. Barnes had kidnapped you and thrown you in a cell. You could care less if he’s wanting to make you his redemption project. In your mind, the two of you are past saving.

“Well, it is mine,” he remarks, and you let your head roll to the side to stare at him.

“He’s messed up too you know,” you toss the words back at him. “I can see it in his eyes – the sadness – the regret. I think he feels more responsible for what he’s done, than for what I do.”

“Well, I’m not here to talk about Bucky. I’m curious as to why –” Rogers drags a chair from the desk nearby and slowly takes a seat, folding his arms across his chest. “Why does a girl like you get mixed up in this business?”

“My business is none of your concern Dr. Drew.”

Steve takes a deep breath before he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “What about that night?” His head tilts as he tries to get a read on your face. “With the Winter Soldier.”

You slowly sit up, resting your back against the wall with your knees bent in front of you. There’s a soft glow from the computer screen on the desk behind Steve and it bounces off the glass wall in front of him, lighting up his face in a velvety blue shade. Clenching your jaw, you continue to stare at the man, not answering his question.

“What did he do to you?” Steve’s tone is softer than before.

“Nothing,” you finally answer, and he can hear a change in your tone. The playful glint in your eye is replaced with a darkness he’s not seen before, as if you’ve lifted the curtain you keep yourself hidden behind. “I looked death in the eyes that night and I tried to kill him.” You take a deep breath before continuing. “He said a word that I had to look up later. _Moy – _it’s Russian for mine.” You push off the wall, the anxious feeling creeping over you and you start to pace the length of the cell. “For a year I was worried he would come back for me, then I got tired of being scared. So, I started training, because if he _was _coming back, I wanted to be ready.”

Steve watches you quietly for a moment, “Self-defense I can understand, but how did that escalate to murder for hire?”

You stop pacing near the plexiglass wall, staring down at the man in the chair, a seriousness in your tone, “Because I had already gone toe to toe with the devil once, and there are a lot more devils out there, Captain.”

“There are better ways to do that,” he comments.

“You protect the innocent. I’m doing the same, we just have different ideas of justice.” You glare down at him as you speak, seeing the words hit him. “The system is flawed – you know that.”

The two of you stare at each other for a few moments in silence. The truth in what you said hanging heavily in the air.

“You know it’s over.” Steve’s eyes watch you as he confirms what you had assumed their endgame was.

“Is it though?” You question him.

He hears the change in your tone. Sees the glint return to your eye, and the curtain come back down. “He’s not going to stop. He’s on a mission to save you.”

“Do I look like I need saving?”

“From yourself,” Steve responds with a nod. “Yes.”

***

The next morning Steve’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when Bucky busts into his room, out of breath from running, “She’s gone.”

“What?”

“The cell’s empty.”

Steve discards the toothbrush, spitting the remaining toothpaste into the sink before rushing after his friend. His voice calling out to him as they start down the hall, “How? There’s no way she got out of there.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky replies, “the door was wide-open.”

The sound of female laughter can be heard from the kitchen area of the compound and they give each other curious glances before they take off jogging in that direction. Both men stop abruptly at the scene in the kitchen. Peter Parker is sitting at the end of the counter, a plate with an omelet in front of him. Tony is at the stove, spatula in hand as he prepares another omelet and you’re standing at the end of the counter beside Peter, sipping casually from a Stark Industries mug.

“Hello boys,” you greet with a smug smile.

“Oh,” Tony acknowledges the two slack jawed men. “Mornin’ fellas. Look who Mr. Parker found making her way _out_ of the compound this morning.”

The two men look between Stark and you as Peter takes a drink from his glass of orange juice - watching the scene play out like a reality tv show. You’re watching Steve and Bucky too, as if you know something they don’t know, the smirk playing at the corners of your lips giving you away. 

Tony glances over at the men incredulously, “Was anyone going to tell me about the _pet_ assassin you boys had locked up in the basement?”


End file.
